Readers of this blog know that occasionally I find myself needing to confess something publicly. Like how I feel about window washing. And how I really feel about spring-cleaning. Today is another one of those days.
I’ve stopped folding underwear.
It was a habit—though, thankfully, not a dirty one—that started getting out of control. I had been doing it for so long that I didn’t realize the time it was sucking from my life and the energy it was robbing from my family. I can’t remember how I started; it seems I’ve always done it in some way, shape or form.
I blame my mother.
One day it dawned on me that I was doing what is quite possibly the most ridiculous thing in the world. I was folding articles of clothing that 1) don’t wrinkle all that easily and 2) get crammed into the world’s smallest drawers 3) NEVER SEE THE LIGHT OF DAY.
And, speaking of the light, I’ve seen it. By forgoing the fold, I now have energy to do so many things. Put laundry away. Match socks. Get my coffee out of the microwave the first time it beeps. Challenge my other pre-conceived notions of what “should” be done as a homemaker. I’m telling you, folks, it’s a game changer. Are you with me?